


The First

by gr8escap



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Grandparents & Grandchildren, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 17:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11718972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gr8escap/pseuds/gr8escap





	The First

I was the first.

> _The words sounded foreign as he sat in front of the group of children. He looked at the mark that trailed from the back of his hand all the way up his arm - like a tattoo, but one that didn’t fade, instead it had grown brighter and – he reached across the sofa to squeeze the hand of the love of his life. His soulmate. They’d begged to hear the story of the mark. Again._

I was the first one this ever happened to – at least according to all of the texts and research that grew around me after it happened. I’d been shopping for groceries and I’d seen at least ninety-five people since I left my apartment. There was the mail carrier, a couple walking their dog, the bus driver, and a few faces on the bus. Then I chatted with Clint, the man at the newsstand. After that I saw a boy dressing shop dummies in a shop window, various ladies with their little kids, and then once inside the store, there was Pete, the produce boy, and Bruce, the meat manager. It wasn’t a small town and it wasn’t a small store.

My palm itched.

> _He rubbed his palm on his knee remembering._

I didn’t look at it, you don’t, you know. You just give a scratch and say ‘I hope that means I’m coming into money’.

I got my produce, and my meat. I checked out at the front with Peggy, and I left. I stopped by the hardware store, chatted with Tony, and he apologized for something odd, “looks like you might have gotten some grease or something – here’s a cloth, should wipe that right off.”

I looked at my hand where he pointed, across the back was this dark mark, never did look like grease to me. It was almost tribal and it was really pretty. I wondered if I’d bumped against some wet ink or paint. When it wouldn’t wipe off and it didn’t have any kind of smell, I rubbed my thumb over it, and it moved with my skin. If you’ve ever drawn on yourself, you’d know the difference. The color separates with the lines in your skin.

I didn’t think too much about it, figuring that it would wash off or wear away the way ink does. I walked back home with my hardware bag in my fancy left hand and my groceries in my right. I walked past Clint, the window-dressing fella, and the bus stop again, and thought nothing of any of it as I waved at my neighbor Sam and closed the door to my apartment.

The next day, my arm was colored to here.

> _He clasped his elbow dramatically, watching the kids, some of whom already had marks on their skin, others with skin purely colored in the pale ivory, soft brown or dark black hues, just the way they were born._

It was this black and red color with hints of blue and yellow, you can see more of the colors now, but that morning they were just coming in, you see. I got up, fixed myself some breakfast, and headed down to the newsstand. Sure, we had internet, we had all that, but I liked Clint, he was funny. Along the way I got some looks, mostly people were giving me the ‘bad boy with tattoos’ buffer zone and sneer. The places where the mark was starting to spread to would itch, but other than that…

> _He looked at the little kids and the bigger ones who hadn’t shown any marks yet._

Other than a dumb itch, it didn’t bother me. I was more confused, and I made an appointment that morning on my way to the newsstand with Doc Romanoff. Mean old thing.

> _He grinned then, unable to maintain the ruse._

I’m _kidding_ , she was tough, but so nice. Very no-nonsense. I knew she’d ask the right questions and do the right research. I told Clint what was happening, the first person I mentioned it to, and as scared as I was to tell somebody, I knew nothing was wrong with me that I should worry about someone knowing about this thing. It was  _obvious_  after all. It wasn’t as if it started at the shoulder and let me cover it up while I figured out what kind of madness was happening to me.

He said the doc was probably a good idea and asked if it hurt. I told him it didn’t and he had to poke the darkest, brightest colors to see. What happens when somebody pokes you? It might hurt a little, right? It tingled, kinda like when your foot goes to sleep.

On my way from the newsstand I bumped into this blonde guy, muscling boxes from the shop with the mannequins to the corner, knocked him down and he landed pretty hard on his rear. I reached to help him up, and he gripped my hand, and it more than tingled, it felt like pop rocks do in your mouth, all up my arm, and the itching flared clear to my shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, and he looked at me with a shy smile.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Hey, I love your sleeve,” he was simply bubbling, complimenting what he thought was a tattoo. I’ve since found out that’s his nervousness showing. He’s pretty sullen and stubborn most of the time. “I’m Steve,” he said, with his nervous, blushing, bubbly smile.

“Bucky. Can I help you? I helped cause the mess.”

“I appreciate it. Do you live around here? I’m new in town.” He bubbled and grinned, rubbing his hand on his jeans. I noticed he rubbed it harder and repeatedly, so I took hold of it again, and he drew back in shock.

* * *

I _was_ shocked, it felt like a jolt of electricity, but it wasn’t pain – more of a surprise really. When he held my hand up to inspect it, there were marks on it that were very different from the ink marks made by my art. My hand was covered with the strangest, most beautiful graphic interpretation of Bucky’s life history. Like he said, the colors got brighter with time.

> _They looked at each other with tenderness and chuckled when a few of the older kids snickered and ‘eww’-ed._

He asked me out, and I said no, I had to get the window finished. He went to the doctor – armed with new information – and came back after being poked and giving blood samples, carrying sandwiches and drinks.

We had a number of unofficial dates before our technically ‘first date’. He took me to Coney Island, dragging me on every wild ride until I threw up hotdogs and cotton candy. It was  _still_ a really good date.

A little secret?

The colors spread across my chest when he asked me to marry him. They covered his chest and back when I said yes. By the time we were married and had adopted your mother, and your father…

> _Steve looked at the two groups of cousins mingled together with awe and love._

We were both covered with colors like a couple of old bikers. Your granddads were the first to have this unexplained soulmark. People across the world started reporting marks about two years after Bucky first saw me in the shop window. We never did find out what the cause was. After several years of research, we couldn’t pin it down, nor could we find any historic reference, so we gave up. There are others out there trying to figure it out, but it really doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it brought us together, gave us your parents, and showed them their loved ones. Which brought us you beautiful kids.

> _They clasped hands, smiling at each other, giving the subtle warning that they were about to kiss. Some of the bigger kids groaned; one covered their eyes, and another covered the eyes of the smallest little pixie, who grinned and kept peeking through their fingers. Bucky winked at the smallest, smiling grandbaby before kissing Steve tenderly._


End file.
